Keeping the Stars Apart
by thelightningstrike
Summary: A series of Draco/Astoria ficlets for the 180 Titles Challenge. Currently: Put Your Money Where Your Heart Is.
1. Broken Glass

**Keeping the Stars Apart**

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**Pairing: Draco Malfoy & Astoria Greengrass

Word Count: 952

Summary: He wishes he could be fixed so easily.

Author's Note: I'm sorry, I'm sorry. No, I really am. Here I am, starting a new collection fic when there are actual chaptered stories to be finished. I apologise most sincerely. HOWEVER, I've been wanting to write a ficlet collection for Draco/Astoria for a VERY long time, and I finally found a challenge that inspired me to do so. Hurrah! So this is a series of Draco/Astoria ficlets and they may not always follow on from each other but they are all about the same Draco/Astoria story. Feedback is appreciated of course, I hope you like it!

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**Broken Glass**

_August, 1996_

Draco takes a long drink of water and then sets the glass back down on the wooden surface of the table. He's in the Greengrass family's kitchen, having been sent to stay with them for the whole summer. At first he'd hated it, loathing the company of each and every one of the four Greengrasses, but eventually he'd formed some sort of friendship with their youngest daughter, Astoria. Recently he'd even felt the beginnings of it slowly becoming more.

His eyes skim over the letter before him, illuminated in the moonlight coming through one of the large windows. The letter is from his mother, and the contents of it are not in the least bit pleasing to him. He lowers his head into his hands, feeling completely helpless.

Footsteps coming down the stairs alert him to concealing the letter in his dressing gown pocket and he is looking at the door when Astoria enters, a look of shock on her face upon seeing him sat at the table.

"Draco?" she asks, as if for confirmation that yes, it is really him, and not some ghost- although, Draco thinks bitterly, he probably looks paler than one after the news he's recieved- "What are you doing up?"

He runs a hand over his face and smiles weakly. "Couldn't sleep."

Astoria smiles at him, empathising. "Me neither. Do you want a glass of milk?"

Draco frowns. "No, thank you."

"Oh, sorry," Astoria says as she slips inside the pantry for a milk bottle. "I forgot- you don't like it, do you?"

"No," Draco says shortly, turning his gaze back to the tabletop.

Astoria cocks her head to one side, surveying him. "Are you alright?" she asks as she goes to the cabinet for a glass.

"I'm fine," he says, but he can't stop himself sighing. He reaches for his glass of water and takes a long, cooling sip. "I'm fine," he repeats, as if to not only reassure Astoria, but himself too.

Astoria looks at him skeptically as she pours the milk into her glass. "No, seriously. What's bugging you? Come on, cough up- it could never be _that _bad."

_If only you knew_, Draco thinks and then sighs again. "Nothing's bothering me, Astoria. Nothing that will interest you, I'm sure."

"Try me," she says, flashing a smile over her shoulder as she reaches for the biscuit tin. She sets about getting two plates and arranging chocolate biscuits on each of them.

Draco sighs. "Mother sent me a letter." He knows the statement means more to him than to Astoria, who will misinterpret it for some argument he and his mother are having.

"Is that all?" she asks. "Gosh, I thought it was something bad. Listen, Draco, she'll come round. Whatever you've done this time, I'm sure it can be fixed..."

"Mother wants me back." He watches as Astoria tenses, her back going rigid and her hands moving to a stop.

"For the day?" she asks, trying to keep her voice level when really it is strangled and high. She keeps her face away from him so that she can hide her reaction and picks up the glass of milk to take a sip as her mouth is suddenly very, very dry.

Draco shakes his head, even though she can't see him. "For the rest of the holidays. She's taking me to..." he pauses, not knowing exactly whether he should be telling Astoria this- torn between wanting her to know and wanting to protect her from the truth. "To Him." For once, he decides honesty is the best policy.

On hearing the last word, Astoria drops the glass. It falls gracefully, as if in slow motion, and smashes hard against the floor, splattering it with a mixture of broken glass and pure white milk that stands out against the dark wood of the floor. They both stare at the mess it has made, but neither of them make a move to clear it up.

Tears start to brim behind Astoria's eyelids and she quickly blinks them away as the cat, King, comes from under the table and starts to lick at the milk. Astoria stoops to gather him in her arms to stop him from treading on the broken glass and turns to look at Draco. His eyes say the words she knows he can't say to her: _I'm sorry_.

"Well," she says, trying to keep her voice level as she musters as much contempt as she can, especially for the last two words. "I'm sure you'll do a very good job of _eating Death_." Her voice cracks on the last word and she tears her eyes from Draco's as she flees the room. Draco hears her running up the stairs and smooths a hand down his face.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, to no one in particular- perhaps to Astoria, perhaps to himself. "_I'm sorry_."

He can almost feel the letter burning him through his dressing gown pocket as he bends to clear up the milk and broken glass. With a sweep of his wand he mends the glass, watching as all the pieces fit back together as if they'd never been broken at all. He wishes he could be fixed so easily.


	2. Living in Your Letters

**Keeping the Stars Apart**

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Word Count: 1,143

Summary: When Astoria doesn't return to school for her fifth year and Draco's seventh, he sends her a letter.

Author's Note: Okay, so this is quite a jump from the last chapter. It's a whole year on, when Draco is starting his seventh year and Astoria her fifth, but Astoria's parents have taken her out of school. I probably will write more chapters about the period in between this chapter and the last, but I just write as the titles prompt me. I hope you don't mind, there'll be a lot of jumping but I'll always make sure I explain. Hope you like it, thanks for the reviews last chapter, and as always, feedback is appreciated!

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**Living in Your Letters**

_November 1997- February 1998_

Draco sends the first letter, apologising a thousand times over, and for a long while there is no reply. Weeks pass and October comes and goes, and it is November before he hears anything.

Just about when he's given up hope, his eagle owl, Nero, delivers a letter in handwriting that Draco would know anywhere. He rips it open within a heartbeat and sinks back against the Owlery wall, for once not minding about the bird droppings all around him.

_Draco,_

_You are an arsehole. I am _fine_, although I don't know why you're even bothering to ask, so I won't return the favour. How's your arm?_

_Astoria._

For a long while he just sits and stares, taking in the delicate handwriting and the sarcastic tone and the flourish of a name at the end. Then he laughs, a great release bubbled up out of nowhere, born of waiting and wishing and Astoria's snide quips.

After he has laughed for about an hour it seems, although it's probably only a few minutes, he runs quickly back to the Slytherin common room to phrase and send a reply.

_Astoria,_

_It tickles something terrible. I trust your wit is still intact, but how are you?_

_Draco._

He sends it with Nero immediately and until the letter comes two weeks later, the reply is all he can think of. It plagues his dreams and his waking hours, often distracting him when attention to his surroundings is crucial. Knowing that a reply is coming, however, makes it always worth it. Soon replies are coming more frequently until their correspondence almost becomes the reason for Draco's existence.

_Draco,_

_You continue to ask me how I am and in every letter I tell you that I'm fine. Why won't you believe me? Is it some sort of Death Eater quality, this distrust? Stupid question. Of course it is. _

_Maybe you keep asking me because you want me to ask how _you_ are. Truthfully, I don't want to know. I'm perfectly happy knowing you're at Hogwarts with that bastard traitor of a Headmaster (I trust your mail isn't checked?) and 'Perfect' Pansy._

_Tell me: do you still have that mole precisely in the centre of your neck?_

_Astoria._

-

_Astoria,_

_I'll believe you when you write it sincerely. And of course, nothing can be written sincerely because it can be read as insincerely as it was meant to be sincere. So basically, I'll only believe you when you tell me to my face that you're fine. _

_But fine, a new question. Where in the world are you and when will I see you again?_

_In answer to yours, yes, I do. The ridding of moles is not a prerequisite of becoming a Death Eater._

_Draco._

_-_

_Draco,_

_That's two questions. I can't and won't tell you where I am, and to the second question the answer is simply this: I don't know._

_I'm glad that no one hexed off your mole. I intend to do so whenever I see you next as a penalty for all the worrying you caused me last year. Draco Malfoy's mole would make an excellent trophy that I would delight in showing Pansy._

_Astoria._

_-_

_Astoria,_

_I worried you? How sweet. You should know though that I can take care of myself. _

_What did my mole ever do to you?_

_And, as always..._

_Where are you?_

_Draco._

_-_

_Draco,_

_Plenty of things. It used to annoy me more than anything, that one brown fleck in the middle of all your white skin. I always wanted to wipe it off._

_You didn't worry me, you idiot. I was just worried that I would die of embarrassment because of what a fool you were acting. You really were an idiot, you know, trying to murder the greatest wizard ever and everything._

_As ever, I cannot tell you of my whereabouts. _

_Astoria._

_-_

_Astoria,_

_I'm going to ignore your comments about my mole. Mother loves it._

_I'm also going to ignore you comments about trying to murder the greatest wizard ever 'and everything'. You wouldn't understand if I explained._

_As ever, the more elusive you are, the more I want to know, so again:_

_Where are you?_

_Draco._

The last letter Draco recieves from Astoria comes in February, when the grounds are far too cold for anyone to bother with them except for a few foolish people, like Draco, who simply like the fresh air. Draco takes the letter into the grounds to read it, and couldn't be more happy after doing so.

_Draco,_

_In answer to the question you ask me every single letter:_

_I would tell you if I could._

_Astoria._

For a moment he just leans back against the tree and smiles more than he has in a while (the while being exactly the amount of time since when he had read the previous letter from Astoria), before scribbling a hasty reply.

_Astoria,_

_I feel I've made a breakthrough of some sorts. Solitary celebrations in due course. Now I need to work on changing the 'can't' to a can. Something tells me transfiguration won't help._

_Draco._

He sends it later on, feeling happier and lighter than he would have thought possible in his present climate. The light feeling disappears after two days of waiting, the happiness after a week. He continues to wait despite it becoming clearer each day that Astoria is not going to reply. Despite that months later there is absolutely no sign of a letter arriving in the morning mail, Draco still raises his head to the rafters to the owls swooping in.

He is always disappointed.


	3. As Shallow Becomes Deep

**Keeping the Stars Apart**

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Word Count: 787

Summary: Astoria is already in too deep.

Author's Note: I don't like this one very much. I had a great idea for the prompt but I couldn't use it because it was too far on in the future of this relationship and I was worried that would confuse you all, so I had to write this instead. I'm sorry it's not very good- you'll have to bear with me though because the next one, hopefully, will be far better. Look at this as a sort of, filler chapter, really. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

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**As Shallow Becomes Deep**

_February 1998_

Astoria runs a hand through her hair and sighs, her fingers on her right hand closing more tightly around the letter. Daphne is sleeping in the bed next to her and Astoria is careful not to wake her as she goes to sit on the window ledge of their room in the _maison_- they are staying under the care of their french grandmother until the war ends because Javier Greengrass is on the to be recruited or killed list of the Death Eaters. He stayed in hiding in England but sent Cecilia, Daphne and Astoria to live with his mother.

Astoria has not spoken to her father in at least two months because correspondence between Javier and his family is prohibited, but she has been recieving letters from Draco Malfoy, part of the very organisation so desperate to either collect or kill her father. At first when he sent her a letter she was angry, shocked and confused, because she hadn't spoken to him since he had left their house to become a Death Eater a year ago. And his letter was so light and spirited, as if nothing bad had happened between them and they could just carry on as normal.

She'd debated long and hard over whether to show the letter to her mother or Daphne, but eventually decided against it. She hadn't wanted to burden them when their worries were already so great. She relied on her own judgement- and replied.

And now here she was, clutching perhaps Draco's thirtieth letter to her since their correspondence began. She reads it again in the moonlight, tracing her pale fingers over the cursive writing that is so much neater than her own.

_Astoria,_

_I feel I've made a breakthrough of some sorts. Solitary celebrations in due course. Now I need to work on changing the 'can't' to a can. Something tells me transfiguration won't help._

_Draco._

The letter was in answer to her telling him that if she could tell him where she was, she would. It was, as usual, a perfect answer, just the right amount of wit and intrigue to make her want to rush to her writing desk in the corner and pen the reply. But this time, she doesn't. Because as their letters have progressed, her feelings towards him have too. She knows she's stupid for feeling this way about _Draco Malfoy_, but she honestly can't help it. His letters have weakened her guard and before now she hasn't noticed.

At first it was just a silly little thing, a way to pass the time, to keep him guessing and to provide her with something to look forward to. But now the letters have become almost the reason for her existence, and as much as any girl would happily have it happen, she knows she _can't_. She's already in way too deep; it would be reckless and stupid to let it go any further.

Astoria leans her head against the window pane and looks down into the garden below and the fields leading to the sea in the background. Even though she is in the south of France and looking towards Africa, she thinks of Draco back in Scotland, in the castle she loves so dearly. She thinks of him sleeping, dreaming of a reply from her that he'll never get. "I'm sorry," she whispers against the glass, feeling so guilty it almost hurts. She would love to keep it up, to fall in love with him against all odds, but she can't think of what she wants now. Not when her family need her so badly.

Eventually she gets off the window seat and kneels down beside her bed, dragging a wooden box from under it while being careful not to wake Daphne. She puts the last letter in the box with all the others, slotting it into the black ribbon she ties them together with. She holds them in both her hands for a moment, kneeling down with them resting on her lap, and sighs quietly before putting them back in the box and sliding it under her bed.

She looks across at Daphne who is sleeping softly, her silvery blonde hair spilling all over the pillow, and then gets into her own bed. She hugs her knees to her chest and when she finally falls asleep, she dreams of black ribbons and letters and the sea and castles and _Draco Malfoy_.


	4. The Waiters, the Watchers

Keeping the Stars Apart

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Word Count: 2,419

Summary: It's three years before they see each other again.

Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long, and sorry that this chapter is a bit long and rambly and boring. My writer's block is terrible at the moment! I hope you like it- feedback is appreciated.

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The Waiters, the Watchers, the Listeners, the Keepers, and Me

_June 2001_

It's three years before they see each other again, and it isn't in pleasant circumstances.

It's approaching Draco's twenty-first birthday and his mother has been arranging the Ball for months. She hopes that he'll find a woman that he'd like to marry at the party, and she isn't hiding it very well either. She sends numorous letters to his villa in Italy where he's been hiding out for the last three years, even after he and his family received official pardon from Harry Potter himself. He didn't want pity, so he ran and hid. Created quite a business in buying and selling properties, both in the Muggle world and his own.

He ignores the letters. He doesn't want a party, or to be reintroduced to the Wizarding social elite. He doesn't want to have to say no to hordes of girls because he doesn't know where the only one he's ever truly felt for is. Astoria never got back in touch, and although he now doesn't care, he knows that no one else could fill whatever hole she left in his heart. He'd wined and dined several women in the past three years but he pulled out of every relationship before he got too close. It's his way, and he is used to it now.

One day, he comes in from making a deal with an elderly witch, a heavy sack of galleons in his hand. He's heading straight for the safe when his mother walks in, regal and austere as ever, as if this wasn't the first time they've seen each other in three years.

"Draco, darling," she says, and without another word, walks to him and wraps her arms tightly around him. "I've been waiting for you."

"Hello Mother," Draco says, patting her on the back. "What are you doing here?"

Narcissa pulls back and puts a pale hand to his face. "Can't you guess? I want- I need you to come home, darling."

"Mother, you know I-"

"I won't hear another word of it," she says, looking up into his face as if he were the very reason for her existence. Actually, he thinks tiredly, he probably is. "I need you home. I've arranged a celebration for your birthday with all your friends and everyone who's anyone is coming, I promise. I've invited Blaise, Gregory, Theodore, Pansy- all of your old friends. Please come, sweetheart. Everyone will be so disappointed." She looks up at him mournfully.

Draco looks down at her and then away, sighing. "Fine."

"Wonderful," she says, beaming suddenly. "I packed a bag for you as soon as I arrived- I knew you couldn't say no to me. Shall we be off then?"

Not even bothering to reprimand her for going through his things, Draco nods. "Let me just go get something, and we can go."

"Lovely," she says. "I'll wait right here."

Draco nods and heads out of the room, just before he leaves she calls out to him. "Draco?"

"Yes, Mother?"

"You have a really beautiful home. There's only... one thing, that's missing, sweetheart. Please just think about it."

"Thank you, Mother, I will," he says, and leaves quickly. He's already decided, though. He will never marry.

--

The first thing Draco sees as he stumbles through the fireplace after his mother is his father. Lucius watches as Draco puts down his bags, and Draco is forced to remember they last time they saw each other, when his father caught him packing his bags three years ago and begged him not to go. He begged him to stay and help him, to stop him getting sent to Azkaban, or to at least say goodbye to his mother. Draco had done neither.

"Father," Draco says bravely, limply holding out one hand.

Lucius stares at his hand for a long time and then grasps it firmly. "Glad to have you back, Draco." His voice is distant, but his eyes are penetrating, making Draco feel guilty. The fact that his father leans heavily on a walking stick only makes it worse.

Draco smiles, briefly, and then pulls his hand away, turning to Narcissa. "I'll go and take my bags upstairs, shall I?"

"Of course, darling. Freshen up and then come down for some lunch, hmm?" she rubs his shoulder soothingly.

He nods. "That sounds great." He leaves the room quickly, feeling his father's eyes boring into his back, watching him as he leaves. He closes the door and then leans against it, listening.

"He didn't say-"

"Don't, Lucius. He's sorry, I know he is. He came, didn't he?"

"I just think-"

"What- you want a written apology? He's a grown man now, Lucius. He's made a name for himself, stepped out of our, our- shadow. And I don't blame him."

"He was ashamed of us." His father's agitated voice floats out from the door, piercing Draco like a knife.

"And why wouldn't he be? We received pardon from Harry Potter at the last minute before you were almost sent to Azkaban, Lucius. For life, as well. We have a lot to be ashamed of, and a lot to be thankful for. Draco is one of those things."

"He was branded too, Narcissa-"

"And he was sixteen when he was forced into it. His heart wasn't in it, Lucius. He was a boy. He has redeemed himself, and we must welcome him home. We must embrace him. And you must stop looking at him as if he's done something wrong. He hasn't."

"I just think he should have been here."

"I know. But he is now. And that, to me, is all that matters. Not the past, but the present. Our boy is here, Lucius, and we need to make the most of that."

Draco turns and walks up the stairs quickly. He doesn't want to hear anymore- it makes him want to leave all over again.

--

"Malfoy, you cocky bastard! Finally come back to us, have you?"

Draco spins in his chair in the garden to see Blaise Zabini walking towards up, grinning broadly. Draco smiles and stands up. "Only for a short while, Zabini. Can't stand your company for too long."

The two men laugh and embrace and then Blaise sits down beside him. "So how was Italy? Plenty of beautiful women, right?"

Draco laughs. "Plenty."

"Anyone worth keeping?"

Draco answers honestly. "No." He looks out at the vast countryside thoughtfully, wondering, if she's out their somewhere.

"Shame. Still, there's always your birthday bash, right?" Blaise says eagerly, leaning back in his chair.

"I'm not interested," Draco says and lights a cigarette. "Want one?"

"Dirty, Muggle habit. You shouldn't. What do you mean, you're not interested? You're not gay, are you?"

"Of course not," Draco says. "I just... don't want to marry. For the moment I'm content being alone. What about you, though? I think Mother mentioned something-"

"Yes, I proposed not too long ago. Tory- you'll love her. We're having an engagement party the week after yours. Will you come?"

"She sounds exquisite. I'd love to be there."

"We met two years ago," Blaise says, fiddling with his shirt sleeves. "For a long time she wouldn't go out with me, but I won her over." He laughs at something, a memory that Draco isn't privy to.

"How romantic. Where is she?" He takes a long drag on his cigarette.

"Tory? Working, so I believe. She's a Healer."

"Wow. What are you doing now, anyway?" Draco stubs the cigarette out on the table and throws it into the near distance, then stands and wipes his hands on his jeans, looking down at his friend.

Blaise grins. "Don't laugh."

"I swear I won't. What are you doing?"

"Modelling."

Draco's laughter can be heard from the kitchen, where Narcissa stands, watching from the window. She watches as Blaise starts to laugh too, and smiles to herself.

--

Draco wakes up with a pounding headache having got ridiculously drunk last night with Blaise. The pounding gets louder and louder until he suddenly realises that it's coming from his door, and he drags himself from his bed to go and answer it. It's his mother.

"Happy birthday, darling. I bought you some coffee, two little presents and a hangover remedy. When Blaise brought you home you were quite- disorienatated," she says, walking straight in and setting the tray on his desk. He sits down on his bed and she brings the hangover remedy to him. He downs it and shudders- she replaces it with coffee and two small boxes.

"Did I wake you up?"

"No," she says, and smiles. "I was waiting up for you. I'm not used to having you around- I wanted to be sure you came home safe."

Draco sips his coffee. "Thanks."

"Open your gifts. The larger first."

She leans forward eagerly as he takes the larger of the two boxes and unwraps it. It's cufflinks: two obsidian squares framed with silver.

"Do you like them? They were my late father's."

Draco is pleasantly surprised to find that he does, indeed, like them. There is no trace of green and no serpents, snakes or reptiles of any kind. Indistinct, but classic. "I love them. Thank you, Mother," he says, and leans forward to brush his lips over her cheek.

She beams. "Now, the next one is just a... another hint, darling. You needn't think anything of it, but I'd sleep better knowing that you have it, just in case."

In the next box is an engagement ring, a diamond wedged between two emeralds on a heavy silver band. He looks at her, his eyes demanding an explanation.

"Your father gave that to me when he was nineteen and I was sixteen. It was unorthodox, slightly, but we were in love. I want you to be, before you give it away. I'm not saying that it should be now- I just want you to have it, just in case."

"In case of what, Mother?" Draco can't help but be annoyed. He's already made it clear that he doesn't want to marry.

She looks down at her hands, tightly clasped in her lap. "In case I die before you find someone to give it to. I need to give it to you now before it's too late."

Draco falters. "You're not going to die, Mother."

Narcissa looks up, blinking back tears, and smiles falsely. "Of course not. Now, darling, after you've drunk your coffee you need to go in the shower and then try on your suit, but after that you need to put on some ordinary clothes and help me ready the house."

"Sorry, for what?"

"Your Ball, Draco. It's tonight, at seven, you know that. Go and hop in the shower, won't you, sweetheart?"

Draco sighs heavily before complying.

--

Draco disappears upstairs immediately after his mother relinquished him, muttering something about going to the toilet- anything to get away from the hundreds of people that are all ready to try and make him dance or give a speech or marry him or something dreadful like that. He skulks in his room for a bit, fidgeting with his tie (ever since Muggle clothes came into fashion the tie has been the only thing he _hasn't_ got used to) before decided to rejoin the party. Everyone is here for him, after all.

On his way downstairs he catches sight of someone stood at one of the balconies and for a moment he stands stock still, transfixed by the light of the moon illuminating dark ebony hair, pale skin and a long, shimmering forest green dress. There's something familiar about her. Then, he catches his breath and starts to move towards her until he's standing next to her on the balcony, pretending to look at the moon.

"Draco?"

At her voice he whips round and realises instantly who it is. "Astoria," he says, dumbstruck. He's been waiting for this moment for three years and now he doesn't know what to say.

"Happy birthday," she whispers, apologetically. It was her who lost touch with him, after all.

She's flourished. She used to be awkwardly pretty, unlike her sister Daphne who was a real English Rose. Now she's surpassed Daphne; surpassed everyone. She is unbelievably beautiful, at least to him. The Italian girls he's been seeing pale in comparison- her ivory skin and crimson rosebud lips embody beauty much more than their tans and laughing smiles- her green eyes are so much more intriguing than the brooding brown he's been used to. Suddenly, he realises he's staring and coughs awkwardly, looking down at his hand on the marble balcony and then back up at her eyes. "Thank you."

They stare at each other for a heartbeat- he reaches out to touch her hand and she flinches away. "I-"

"Draco!" a voice says and Draco looks up to see Blaise walking towards him, grinning. "Happy birthday!" he calls, and Draco nods, hoping that Blaise will only want a quick talk so that he can get back to Astoria. He glances at her now- her eyes are sorry.

When he reaches them, Blaise slides an arm around Astoria's waist. "I see you've met my fiancé, Draco. Tory, this is my very best friend and the birthday boy, Draco Malfoy."


	5. Put Your Money Where Your Heart Is

Keeping the Stars Apart

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Word Count: 1,445

Summary: Draco and Daphne take a walk.

Author's Note: Sorry about how slowly I'm writing this. This chapter isn't great, but I needed a quick sort of filler before I get on to the more exciting parts, hope you don't mind! On the plus side, I'm really enjoying writing this! Feedback is appreciated as always!

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Put Your Money Where Your Heart Is

_June 2001_

Sometime later on he finds himself dancing with some blonde his mother has foisted onto him, her sweaty palm clinging to his own and her hair scratching his chin. She doesn't feel even remotely right in his arms- she's too tall, too curvy, too blonde- but she'll do for the moment. She isn't nearly distracting enough, though, and he finds his eyes settling of their own accord on his tall best friend and the graceful, green-clad woman beside him. They're laughing together, looking every inch the perfect couple. Draco turns his head away, feeling sick.

"What is it, Draco?" the blonde asks as the song ends and they walk to the bar together, Draco's eyes looking everywhere but at the laughing couple.

"What's what?" he replies distractedly, signalling to the hired barmen for two drinks.

"Up. With you. Something's on your mind, isn't it?"

"Nothing's on my mind," Draco says, and his eyes flick back over to Blaise and Astoria. Blaise sees him and waves and grabs Astoria's hand, starting to head over to Draco. Draco catches Astoria's eye and just as quickly looks away, back to his blonde partner. "Except, perhaps, hoping that you'd like to dance with me again?"

"Now? What about the drinks?"

"Never mind those," Draco says quickly. "I like this song."

The blonde forgets her previous questions and smiles widely as he leads her back onto the dance floor. It's a slow song and the blonde girl winds her arms round his neck, guiding his to her waist. Draco sees his mother in the background beaming and hopes mildly that he hasn't raised the blonde's hopes too high. He doesn't even know her name.

"So how do you know my mother again?" he asks, for want of something better to say.

"I don't, actually- or rather I didn't, until tonight. I'm a friend of Astoria's, you know, Blaise's fiancé?"

Suddenly Draco's interest is caught. "Astoria? How do you know her?"

"Healer training," she says, her eyes flicking to Astoria. "She was the brainy one," she laughs. "I quit after a short while."

"Oh? Why?"

"Long story," she says, flicking her hair from her eyes. It's clear she doesn't want to say.

"I've got time."

"Astoria introduced me to Blaise and he got me into modelling," she says quickly, averting her eyes. "Quite simple, really."

Draco senses something untoward but doesn't say anything. "They're a nice couple."

"Lovely," she says without emotion. "But let's not talk about them." She smiles up at him. "So have you seen anything you like tonight?"

Draco resists sighing and looking at Astoria, and smiles languidly into the crowd of dancers surrounding them. "Perhaps."

The blonde smiles and leans forward, nestling her face in Draco's neck and he rolls his eyes as her over-priced, tacky perfume washes over him. She isn't right for him by any means, but perhaps she'll do for now. At least she'll appease his mother.

"Can I cut in?" Both jump at the voice and spin to see Daphne Greengrass smiling demurely at them. The blonde frowns and Draco grins, allowing Daphne to replace her by taking one of her hands.

"I'll see you later," he says to the blonde and she pouts, obviously ready to complain- until Daphne gives her a gentle shove in the opposite direction. Draco can't help but laugh and when Daphne returns to his arms from guiding the blonde off the dance floor, he grins at her easily.

"You know I hate blondes," she says irritably, grabbing one of his hands and putting her other on his shoulder.

"I thought you were one," he says as they start to dance. He always finds something about Daphne wonderfully refreshing- she's like the sarcastic sister he never had.

"This is silver, Draco, I've been telling you that for years."

"Ah yes, I remember. And so why do I have the pleasure of dancing with you?"

"Bloody hell, Draco, I don't remember you being this polite. I wanted to talk to you, obviously."

"Then talk." He spins her and they change direction, weaving slowly in and out of other revolving couples.

"I can't talk to you when we're dancing as exuberantly as this," she moans. "Put your money where your heart is and buy me a drink so that we can take a walk outside."

"Bloody hell, Daphne, I don't remember you being this abrupt," he jokes and together they walk to the bar.

Outside it's warm and breezy and the sun is just disappearing below the horizon, leaving the vast garden in a twilight glow. They join one of the stone paths edged by carefully structured topiary and walk in silence for about a minute until she starts talking.

"I'll cut to the chase," she says abruptly.

Draco laughs. "I wouldn't have expected anything less."

She doesn't smile. "I found the letters."

There is silence for a moment as Draco wonders what to say. "What letters?" he asks in the end, as nonchalantly as possible.

"You know the ones," she says, not bothering to fall for his attempts to cover it up. "Did you love my sister?"

Draco looks at her and she stares at him, one eyebrow raised, daring him to lie. "I could have."

"That's not good enough," Daphne says, shaking her head. "Could you still?"

He looks away and she walks to stand in front of him so he is forced to meet her eyes. He notices that she's exactly the same height as Astoria and her eyes are exactly the same shade and starts to feel sick. He turns and walks to the nearest bench, and takes out a cigarette as he sits. He offers the packet to Daphne but she ignores it.

"Answer me, Draco."

He looks up at her and shrugs. "Of course I could."

Daphne smiles and sits down beside him. "I knew it."

"You seem positively thrilled," he drawls. "I'm so pleased that at least somebody could find delight in my anguish." He takes a drag on his cigarette.

Daphne rolls her eyes. "I'm _happy_, Draco, because I don't want Blaise Bloody Zabini for a brother-in-law. I'm _happy_ because I think she could love you too."

Suddenly anger wells up in Draco and he turns to glare at Daphne. "Well, it's too bad, isn't it? She shouldn't have ignored me for three years and then run off with my best bloody friend," he says bitterly, and Daphne grabs his arm.

"Don't, Draco. She's my sister."

He sighs and flicks the ash from his cigarette. "Sorry," he says. "I just haven't got used to it yet."

"I don't think she has either," Daphne says truthfully, and Draco looks at her quizzically.

"What do you mean?" he asks, lowering his voice as a giggling couple walk past, obviously in search of a hidden corner. He watches them until they turn a corner and then looks back at Daphne, who is biting her lip.

"He asked her to marry him a couple of months ago and she only agreed a week ago," she says quickly, as if it's something she shouldn't be saying.

"What? _Why_?"

Daphne shrugs. "She wasn't ever really that into him. But Blaise provides many things- financial security, a good name, our parents like him- and he loves her. Better to settle for someone you know loves you than wait for someone you're not sure about," she says, and pauses. "You weren't there."

It feels like ice is flooding through Draco's body. "She was waiting for me?"

Daphne looks at him, and for a second he thinks she's not going to tell him anything. "She won't admit to it- but I think part of her still is."

Draco's head falls into his hands and he rakes his fingers through his hair before looking back at Daphne. "What can I do?"

There's a heartbeat before Daphne meets his eyes. "Win her back."


End file.
